Giraffe
by Archer of Ecclesia
Summary: Mrs. Forcible had seen Wybie in Coraline's future, the "tall, handsome beast", so the giraffe must have something to do with that...


**A:N; Admit it. All you Coraline fans think April and Miriam are the best dingbats known to existence. Anyway, my thought train (coughtrain**_**wreck**_**) was thinking Harry Potter, and that went to Trelawney, and that went to tea leaves and that went to Miriam seeing "I see a giraffe!". Don't ask. I don't know.**

** Anyway, she did see the tall, handsome beast that is Wybie, so the giraffe must have something to do with Coraline's (and Wybie's) future! First Coraline fic, by the way. I'd like some critique if you can :).**

** Miriam, is, according, to the Coraline Wikia, is younger.**

** Disclaimer: I no own this or **_**Pride and Prejudice **_**or Disney.**

/0-0/

Coraline Jones was as sweet as could be – when she wanted to be. That was rare; she was sweet as spoiled milk left out in the sun for three hours to the vast majority of the people she knew. Then she was sarcastic; her tongue was often a knife used to hack away at people's private parts. After that, she was brave. How would one fare – at the age of freaking eleven – facing the Beldam, armed with nothing more than a triangle made from ancient taffy and a pair of scissors?

Granted, they were sharp scissors that she managed to scar herself with, but they were still scissors.

But most of all, before any other word would be used to describe to describe her when a close friend was speaking of Coraline Jones, was stubborn. Stubborn as a bull.

Or, even worse, a fuzzy black Scottie that kept hopping up on the couch, begging to be pet.

"Argh!" The blue-haired teen growled. Now, age fourteen, she was visiting Spink and Forcible for reasons unknown, even to her.

Maybe it was the fact that her father was making pancakes for dinner (he, did, after all, love breakfast-for-dinner food), and the last time Coraline tried one of his sausages, the undercooked meat squirted blood twenty inches across the table. She had to clean her mom's tablecloth – and sweater – while the pinkish liquid continued to slowly encrust itself on her chin and down her shirt.

"Stupid dog! Stay down!" Coraline snapped, swatting the mutt on its black nose with the back of her hand.

Charles the Fourth let out a whine, tucked his tail in between his legs, and belly-crawled away from the teen, who puffed her chest out triumphantly.

Until Angus the Second hopped onto the couch, unsuspected by the explorer, and wormed his way behind Coraline just as she began to sit back. The Scottie started yelping in feigned hurt, then squirmed wildly, demanding for his mothers to come and save him.

What happened, however, was he caught his back paw claws in Coraline's sweater, putting himself in a rather tight situation.

Coraline growled and twisted around in her seat, seized the Scottie by the scruff of the neck, then wrenched it backward, even without tearing her shirt. She dangled the dog in front of her nose as she scolded it, and not in a light manner. "You worthless mutt! My mom would have had a cow if you tore this!"

Angus's son whimpered once more before Coraline decided to drop him, causing the pathetic dog to dash off and seek out Spink and Forcible, who were arguing once more. Coraline had told the two of them that she preferred normal Earl Grey tea, and Spink was convinced that Miriam had placed the tea leaves elsewhere than there normal spot.

And they were likely right in front of her nose, from the sounds of Miriam's sniping.

The younger woman's figure was soon waddling into the living room, holding a silver tray topped with three cinnamon dog biscuits and a white, blockish cup of tea. April was waddling with the aid of her walker behind her; her face scrunched into an expression of disdain.

Yep, they had been arguing.

"There you are, my dear. Miriam went and–" Spink shot a venomous glare at the back of Miriam's head, who, mid-scowl, whipped around, flouncing...

Coraline shook her head at the lady's abnormal chest size. The only thing she had even showed a sign of her maturity was her mom making her wear a bra. Other than her growth, she had hardly changed since she faced the Beldam, other than gaining a few inches (taking after her father's freakish height and gangly limbs), causing her to tower over Wybie when he didn't keep his back straight.

Wybie...

He, on the other hand, was still stuttering, slouching, wringing his hands when he talked to anyone other than his half-blind grandma, and always messing with his bike. That much stayed the same about him, though he had grown by a quite a few inches. He still continued to slouch, however, making the top of his head barely shorter than Coraline's. When he stood, back fully elongated, however, he was nearly as tall as Mr. Jones.

And he was acting so mature lately, his muscles slowly beginning to grow prominent, and he was slowly – and banana-slug slowly – beginning to lose his annoying habits, such as sneaking up on the explorer when she was in the woods (one punch), forgetting to feed Cat so he came and bugged Coraline (Cat scratched him for that), inviting himself over whenever he pleased (two punches, as his female companion was rarely decent) and walking around in nothing more than his boxers when he knew that his friend was coming over (a door slammed in his face).

The blue-haired girl didn't notice she was blushing so furiously.

"My dear," Miriam rested a tiny hand over her heart, as if taking a pledge, "You look flustered. Shall I read your leaves before I _insist_ you leave to replenish yourself? Complexion such as yours – and mine – should not be stressed."

Coraline rolled her eyes. She was pale, but she wasn't a vampire bathed in baby powder. "Sure, Ms. Forcible."

"That's a good child!" Miriam placed the silver tray on the table, also home to a set of knitting needles and Ms. Spink's strange purple hat, then taking a seat on a chair across from the teenager.

Ms. Spink then waddled over beside her, giving Miriam's chair a decent bump with her hip, then took a sat down on her much wider chair.

The teen knew her routine well; drink her tea quickly, get Spink and Forcible to read it, then leave before the quarreling could start.

Sure, Coraline knew that tea-reading was nothing more than a coincidence, but after Ms. Spink saw the Other Mother's hand, Coraline always took precautions... and her father always made her visit.

She gulped the herbal drink and handed it first to April, who always loved going first – and Miriam cherished going second because she could nitpick April's prediction.

"Hmm..." The older woman shifted it once, twice. She then placed a chubby finger on her chin and gave it a few taps. "I see... another hand?"

"Another hand?! April, one never has one tea symbol repeat itself! Give me that!" Miriam snatched the porcelain cup from her pink-haired friend, then tipped it towards her, away from her. She turned it around so April's prediction was literally dumped upside-down. "Why, another giraffe, it seems."

April sighed. "You said one never has the same symbol twice!"

"Well, excuse me! The first one I saw was _clearly _a hoax!" Miriam huffed. She turned to Coraline before April could argue further. "My dear, it seems that this incident will be particularly important in your life. Now, if you want this event to happen, get inside and have some bed-rest!"

Coraline nodded, afraid that agreeing with either of them in specific would spark another argument. As she stood, she heard another yelp, and saw the fleeting tail of a Scottie as it hopped of.

Damn dogs.

/0-0/

Coraline trudged straight home. Normally, she would have payed Wybie and Slugzilla Jr. a visit, but it was pouring down rain, nearly sleeting, and she had a stupid book to finish before her ninth grade year started in a month.

Mud was caking her yellow goulashes – not the same ones, these were two sizes bigger than her original trademark boots – and rain was soaking her yellow poncho, this one still the same, and her new hat from the same designer as the one she wore in the Other World. Cat liked sleeping on her old one for some reason, and Coraline hated picking off Cat's fur to wear it.

She knocked thrice at the door as she pulled off her boots, her socks feeling soggy. She held her boots in one hand, ringing the doorbell with the other. The girl placed her boots beside the door, where her mother insisted that she keep them if they were to be kept at all. She thought they were a clashing eyesore, especially with her daughter's blue hair, white skin, and dark-brown freckles.

The door opened to reveal her dad, who was in his blue monkey slippers, his eyes half-covered by his sagging, purplish eyelids, his glasses sliding down his nose.

_God, please don't make me have to wear those_, Coraline made a silent prayer as he thumbed them higher onto his face.

"Hey, there, my twitchy-witchy girl! You just missed dinner. Sure you don't want leftovers?"

Coraline had to bite her tongue and lower lip to keep from gagging. "No thanks Dad. Spink and Forcible stuffed me."

A playful scowl crossed her father's face. "That's Ms. Spink and Ms. Forcible to you, sweetheart, lest your mother attack me."

For the first time in quite a while, Coraline giggled at her father's joke. Not a forced chuckle, but a natural giggle. Maybe she really _was _getting sick... she quickly hugged her father, hollered a goodnight to her mother, then barreled up the stairs to meet the sweet haven of her bed.

For some reason, she was still uncomfortable downstairs, namely in the parlor.

Gee, that was for reasons unknown.

The teen undressed and garbed herself in her pajamas in silence, then jumped onto her new mattress, smiling at its cushioning support. Her old one had been hard as a rock.

For a moment, she just lay in her bed – still a canopy with the covers still not attached – and stared at the ceiling. She had taken her paper dragonflies down – they reminded her of the Other World. So she was just staring at blank, boring white and the two blank, boring bed posts with the long blank, boring string.

Various thoughts flitted in and out of her head. She thought about the rain, thought about why 'Ms.' Forcible kept lamenting about the giraffe and why the Other Mother's hand kept popping up.

She would go to the well tomorrow, make sure everything was fine.

The well reminded her of Wybie.

Lately, everything seemed to make her think of the Lovat boy anymore. Seeing any type of slug, banana or not, Cat, motorbikes, school, her dumb _Pride and Prejudice _book which she had yet to finish, _anything_.

The girl's stomach knotted up in the slightest, a blush on her face. _I can't like him. I just can't_.

But why?

_He doesn't like me back_. Coraline was talking to herself. Her previous thoughts were letting her down. _Plus, he's a geek_.

But he was a cute geek.

_Dammit_!

/0-0/

Coraline's night had not been a fun one. She had started cramping once more, Cat woke her up at freaking four in the morning, demanding to be let in, forgetting to shut the window behind him, allowing a freezing draft and several bugs in, and when she had finally been able to sleep in until nine, she had awoken to find herself in a painfully twisted position.

With a groan, she managed to pull herself out of bed, shooing Cat off his preferred position at the foot of her bed and stretched.

Her eyes heavy with sleep, she lifelessly prodded downstairs and rooted through the kitchen for something to eat.

Her mother was already sitting at the cheap, fold-up table, furiously typing away at her laptop, her signature scowl on her face. She always scowled when she was writing.

"Morning to you too," she mumbled under her breath as her daughter groped through the cabinets for her oatmeal and her vitamin bottle.

She withdrew the contents, ripped open the brown package of grains, then poured it into the white bowl. Added milk, stuck it into the microwave for forty-five seconds, took it out while ignoring the burning pain in her hands, then plopped a spoon into the muck.

Coraline sat opposite from her mother, plopped her colorless pill onto the table, then scalded her tongue with her breakfast so she could swallow the pill without choking on its bitter taste.

Just as the medicine slid down her throat, a knock sounded at the door.

"You answer it, Missy. I'm working," Mel said monotonously.

The blue-haired teen sighed, pushed her chair out from the table with a bit much force, then stumbled over her own feet as she hobbled toward the door.

"Hello?" Sleep was blinding her eyes, so she had no clue who was at the door.

"H-heya, Jonsey!"

Of course. Who would come so early on a summer day, and asked something with so much energy, other than Wy-were-you-Born? That insult, however, never had much meaning to any of them. He was her closest friend, she was his. Wybie was always teased by the school bullies before she came, and after she had been there for a month or two, who bothered him _without _getting a bloody nose?

"Too early."

Wybie, who had been standing with his back as straight as possible, still in his skeleton jacket which now fit him instead of being baggy, gloves adorning his hands, his mop of a hairdo caked with dirt, mud, and what appeared to be a twig.

Yet after her response, he sunk down to his normal posture, Coraline no longer having to look upward to meet his gaze.

"I was j-just gonna ask if you wanted to do s-something t-today," he mumbled.

"Do what? Pelt me with tennis balls at the old court? Stick Slugzilla's kids down my shirt? Sucker-slap me with mud?" Coraline's response was typical. Normally, she'd love to do something with Wybie, but it was so. Freaking. Early.

She hadn't even showered.

"No, I just wanted to know what y-you wanna do today," he shrugged. "Didn't really have anything in mind."

Just as he jammed his hands into his pockets and shifted uncomfortably, thunder clapped overhead. Normally, a bit of rain was nothing to Coraline. Normally, a hurricane wouldn't keep her at bay and she'd normally play in a maelstrom just for the fun of it.

But, today, it was sleeting again, judging by the vicious attacks the ice-balls were giving Bobinski's roof. How did it get that cold there in the freaking summer?

"Well, there go _your _plans," Coraline was already pushing the door shut, albeit her manners, when Wybie shoved his foot into the crack between the door and the frame.

"Come on, Jonsey! It's not like y-you have anything better to do than sit around all day! P-please?" The boy pleaded.

The girl crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. He visibly shrink even further into his slouch under her promise of bruises on his shoulder.

"Fine. Downstairs while I change," Coraline waved her hand aimlessly, directing him to wherever it was he stayed when he was stalking around her house when she wasn't around.

Although she acted as if she didn't care what she wore around him, she did. She had to look like regular Coraline, not makeup wearing fake Coraline. He liked her for her differences from other girls. Wyborn did have other female friends, but she knew that none of them were as close to him as she was.

Her blue jeans and striped shirt, the one similar to the gloves her mother got her, were her choice. It took her barely a breath to throw everything on, then she rushed downstairs.

Wybie had been sitting the kitchen, careful not to wander into the parlor, though he was curious. Wyborn was a smart boy, and perhaps too smart at times, so he knew that Coraline would never think to look for him in there.

Mrs. Jones had moved elsewhere, likely to the master bedroom, hinting that she was to be left alone if he was to stay for long.

"S-so?" Wybie asked, his voice surprisingly monotoned, as he stared out the window, which was being assaulted furiously by the storm.

"Outside's not an option. I wouldn't hear the end of it if I went outside in that," she motioned to the window. "Movie? Cable? You're the one who insisted on coming over."

The teen shrugged lifelessly. "Sure you don't wanna go to the lake _after _the s-storm blows over? Head over to my place and wait it out?"

Coraline cocked out her left hip – the one she always used when she was striking 'The Pose', which she inherited from her mother – and placed her hands on her hips.

Though Wybie's puppy-dog face didn't waver.

"Fine. You keep your sorry little butt right there or I'm shoving Slugzilla's kids down your throat," she growled.

With an annoyed gleam in her eye (he had won her over with that bedamned dog face _again_), she approached her father's office, knocked on his door, then waited as a muffled 'Come in' came from the other side of the door.

He was, per usual, seated in font of his computer, pecking at the keys. "Yes... Coraline?"

She was used to her father's... slowness in the morning. "Can I go over to Wybie's?"

A few moments of silence ensued. "Did you ask your mother first and what did she say if so?"

The teen rolled her eyes. "I haven't asked her yet. I know better than too."

Type. Type. Type. Response. "...Fine."

"Thank you, Dad!" She had to holler over her shoulder, as she had already began to dash down the hall.

"He said it's fine," she was almost jumping with excitement, like her younger self. Normally, she wasn't allowed to go anywhere when it was raining, sleeting, hailing, or snowing.

And it was hard to go all of five minutes without Ashland doing one of the four at this time of year.

"A-alright, hurry up, then. Cat's waiting," Wyborn tugged up the collar on his jacket, then knocked the skull mask previously resting on his forehead much like a crown down so it covered his face.

"Oh, you must be kidding me," the blue-haired girl growled.

His mask meant his motorbike.

"Nope! Come on, Jonsey!" He suddenly moved closer and seized Coraline's wrist, then began to drag her away from the Pink Palace.

His bike was parked by the stairwell to Spink and Forcible's apartment, the newly-installed kick-stand propped against the muddy ground. Beforehand, when the two had first met, Wybie only had a hard, wooden plank as a seat.

Now, there was a comfortable cushion somehow nailed to the back for her to ride on, for the two often ventured into the woods when they weren't allowed to explore.

Her helmet was also resting on a handlebar, indicating that one way or the other, Coraline would have came with him.

She picked up her helmet, which was adorned with the painting of a skull spitting out a rose, and fastened it under her chin. It was just as snug as she was used to it being, a sort of security blanket, in a way.

When she and Wybie went out biking together, nothing of the whole world, not the terrible memories of the Other Mother or anything in the Other World could tether her into depression. Her mother's nagging and her father's depression never bothered her. Money problems never bothered her. In a way, she and her closest friend shared an extremely tight bond, closer than simple friends, maybe even closer then lovers.

The bond between two riders and a bike.

The boy fired up the engine, taking a seat on the hard plank she could never tolerate long enough to drive. From this point of view, she could see a leaf stuck in his mop of hair.

He placed his foot opposite the side of the kick-stand, knocked the piece of metal off the ground with his other, and Coraline took her seat.

Coraline's arms, though extremely skinny and pale, were laced over with muscle. Anyone who had disagreed with her could tell you that.

Therefore, she had the perfect strength and nimbleness for riding.

She wrapped these long, perfectly-sized limbs around his chest, her fingers teasing the ticklish spot just below his ribcage. He tensed noticeably.

She had found out this spot to tease him the first time they had gone for a ride – her death was tight enough to be one of a man facing death. He was speeding just a tad to fast down a steeper hill by the waterfall, and she had began to cling unnaturally tight.

He had stopped for a moment, asking for breathing room. Coraline moved her arms down in the slightest, and she thought he had sucked in a breath.

He had.

Moments later, they had crashed into a bush, Wybie still in a giggle fit.

They sped toward Mrs. Lovat's house, hardly breaking at turns, despite the weather. The two were at the Lovat residence a few minutes later, the sleet slowly dying down to nothing more than a harder rainfall.

Unable to hide her smirk, Coraline undid the tight buckle and rested it on the seat of their bike. Yes, their bike. No one else ever used it, so why would it _not _be theirs?

Mrs. Lovat had been resting in her armchair by the front door, petting Cat, who was napping on her lap. They rocked back and forth, the older woman's eyes on the verge of falling into the sweetness of a deep sleep.

Though the moment her grandson walked in, she snapped into her normal, lively state. "Wyborn! I _told_ you to pick up your room!"

Coraline's greeting, however, was much sweeter, and, surprisingly, Mrs. Lovat wasn't surprised by her grandson dragging Coraline along. "Why, hello there, dearie. Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge or cabinet, that is if your father's cooking again."

And just like that, the old woman had fallen asleep again, Cat only giving a slight nod and blinking a 'Hello' to the teens, then curling up to get back to sleep. Cat and Mrs. Lovat, expectantly, as both had the sarcastic nature in their blood.

They also hated rats.

Wyborn's room was upstairs, a small, drafty room, the smallest one in the house, also the one farthest away from the heater, so Coraline often suffered hypothermia when she ventured into the Bog of Eternal Stank.

His room was simple, a television that was rarely turned on, a dusty old computer that sat on a desk by the closet, and a window. A thousand different shirts, pants, and socks were strewn across the room, though he had the decency to keep his underwear off the floor.

Wybie instantly plopped down on his bed, Coraline joining him. Though they were careful not to touch eachother.

The two spied the remote resting on the table. Coraline and Wybie exchanged glances.

Wybie took a swift kick to the shin, and, admitting defeat, he rolled off the dusty-gray covers and stumbled to the remote, tempted to whine in pain.

He tossed her the generically-colored remote, grumbling as he hobbled toward the bed. He flopped onto the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight.

Coraline flipped on the television, flipping through the channels until she found something that was even remotely interesting. The first thing she found was a slasher-film, which Wybie happened to have seen at least three-hundred times before.

The killer was running around with a hook, gutting countless people, who screamed and tried to scramble away from him, but were still captured by his unnatural powers.

Soon, the blue-haired teen was sitting with her back on the wall, rubbing her bare hands over her arms. Mrs. Lovat, though kind, was extremely strict about water in the house, so she made Coraline keep her poncho off.

Wybie noticed this, out of the corner of his eye.

His skeletal coat had been spared of any water whatsoever – how he managed, Coraline had no clue. Ponchos were supposed to keep water out and leather biker jackets weren't.

"C-cold, Jonsey?" Wybie cocked an eyebrow. He was used to the cold – he had to sleep here every night, so he never really minded it.

"No."

"Yes you are," the mop-top grumbled.

Coraline shot him a daggered glare, the boy visibly flinching under her snarl. "I didn't ask you."

"Well, s-sorry," though the boy responded, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat up, leaning against the white wall once more.

For a moment, the girl had to stare at his face. So cute... his messy hair was resting against a poster of punk band, a snarl on his face. Wyborn was clearly irritated.

And Coraline somehow felt guilty. She sucked in her breath, swallowing her pride as she did so. Which was a hard thing, considering Coraline Jones. "Fine. I guess it is a little chilly in here."

The scowl remained on Wybie's face as he kept his eyes glued to the screen, though he was unbuttoning his jacket. He removed it and threw it at Coraline, who smirked, though his eyes were still paying attention to the television. She had seen the smile that cracked its way onto his face.

With a somewhat dreamy sigh (was she getting sick? Coraline didn't _do _dreamy, what with being the tomboy to end all tomboys), she wrapped the jacket around her frame, not minding the slightly offending odor of motor oil it carried.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye – and burst out laughing.

Wybie had no clue at what she found so funny. The only thing showing right now was a commercial for a very greasy-looking cheeseburger.

Until he looked down.

He was in _that _shirt... "H-hey! It's n-not f-funny!" One could tell he was embarrassed. He was stuttering much more than he usually did.

On his chest was a green shirt, with a giraffe that looked as if it could have been designed for a toddler on his shirt, with a fat body, disproportionate head with a cartoonish smile, and stick limbs ending in enormous hooves that were the same color as its body. The mane was made of three strands of hair, and written above this small tuft of fur was, 'I love Grammy's!'

"Are you kidding me?" Coraline had to pause to allow another fit of laughter to seize her. "That's freakin' hilarious? You sure you're older than me?"

Coraline's laughter fit continued for several minutes, Wybie growling, burying his head into his knees. "Who got you _that_?"

Wybie, who had previously been switching between gritting his teeth and biting his tongue to keep giving his friend the tongue-lashing of a lifetime, could barely speak without a stutter of annoyance. "Gr-grandma. I was f-five and she b-bought me this shirt to sleep in."

The blue-haired teen was still chortling, though she managed to speak without another laugh. "Who in the hell makes that for people your height? Disney?"

The boy was now hitting his head against the wall. "She had it c-custom made."

The girl still couldn't contain his humiliation within her. Little did he notice, she was slowly reaching into her pocket...

And the next thing he knew, he heard the click of a camera.

"H-hey! That's off limits! Give it!" Wybie seized after her hand, in which she was holding her cell phone.

"No way, Wyborn! This is too good to pass up!" she exclaimed, scrambling backwards, her back thudding against the headboard.

He continued to madly grab for the phone, thinking of the worst case scenarios. She could show everyone at school... though she wasn't that mean.

She could print it out and post it on her wall. That was getting worse.

Or... she could show his grandma!

"Give it!" He snapped.

Just as Coraline brought her free hand back to slug him in the shoulder, her face exploded into a shade redder than blood in realization of the pose they were in.

She had been pinned under him, his knees on either side of her hips, one of his hands pressing her elbow attached to the hand holding the phone against the headboard, the other pushing her opposite shoulder downward.

For the next few moments, all the two of them could do was stare at eachother, blushing, mouths agape.

And once again caught off-guard, Coraline felt a pair of lips against her's. And just like that, he had pulled away, not being able to comprehend what he had just done.

Then, he was nearly tripping over himself – on his hands and knees – trying to get away from the wrathful teen. She was going to skin him alive and drop into boiling peroxide...

But she was just sitting there, blushing. Wybie thought about waving his hand in front of her eyes to make sure he didn't knock her into a trance, yet he wasn't _that_ stupid.

Coraline shook herself free of her daze, staring at him, her face strangely passive.

Wybie returned the empty gaze. "S-so, y-you're not going to kill me?"

She shook her head. "Not now, at least..."

"A-and you're not mad?"

"No. I didn't mind, actually," another deep blush spread across her face. The two just sat there in the awkward silence for a few more minutes, and the screams of the blonde about to be massacred snapped them out of their comatose state.

Coraline even shuffled closer to him, pressed her back against the wall, and placed her small hand over his enormous gloved one. They both smiled.

They sat together during the duration of the movie, and just as the credits started rolling, Coraline laughed victoriously.

"What?" Wybie asked. She shouldn't have been surprised that the cheerleaders died.

"Oh, nothing... Just..." Coraline's eyes rolled. She placed a quick kiss on his cheek, a one-armed hug around his neck, then stood up. "Gotta head home, it's almost dinner time. If Mom'll let me, I'll be back in a few minutes."

She grinned as she stood, her back popping as she did so. Coraline shrugged his jacket out and handed it to him, sniggering once more at his choice of clothing.

He narrowed his eyes at her, though another playful grin ruined his death-threat. "S-see you later then."

"Bye..."

And just like that, Coraline slipped out of the room.

/0-0/

Five hours later, Wybie was suffering terrible insomnia.

Coraline Jones had kissed him. Well, technically, he kissed her, but she liked it.

So, finally giving up trying to sleep, he threw his legs off the bed and stumbled over to his computer. He turned it on and yawned as it loaded.

He had three new e-mails. One was from his friend bragging about some bike trick or another (he was too tired to concentrate). Delete.

The teen clicked the next one. A storm alert e-mail. And only a half-day late...

He selected the final one. He nearly smashed his computer.

It was the picture of him in his nightshirt. The giraffe one... Thankfully, his rage instantly collapsed on itself when he noticed that it had only been sent to him...

Cat hissed from the other side of the room. He had just noticed that his hot-water-bottle had moved. Wybie rolled his eyes and stalked toward the bed. He fell into a deep sleep the instant his face hit the pillow.

Cat shook his head. _Teenagers_.

**A:N: Yes! I love this pairing!**

** Anyway, try and find the Labyrinth reference :). Read and review, please. **


End file.
